


Night - Anarchy in the UK

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [10]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anarchy, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explosions, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Vandalism, haircut, hairstyle change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: July 1985</p><p>Vyvyan's got a razor and plans for the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night - Anarchy in the UK

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been author-edited for typos and grammar, but has NOT been beta'd!
> 
> Illustrated by [Toast](http://madebytoast.tumblr.com)

The razor buzzed by Vyvyan's ear. He'd nearly finished shaving, he only had to trim his sideburns. Rick soaked behind him in the tub, smoking a cigarette and flipping through one of Vyvyan's magazines. Occasionally he'd grimace and turn the page more quickly.

"I don't know how you can stand to read these things. They're so...violent."

"I know, 's great isn't it?"

"It's awful," Rick flipped another page and glared in horror and fascination, "It shouldn't be allowed."

"Another morality lesson from the pseudo-anarchist. Why are you such a girl?"

"I'm just as anarchic as you are, Vyvyan!" Vyvyan snorted. Rick ignored him, "Anyway, what's so girly about peace?"

"Everything! Besides, real anarchy involves trying to live your girly, peaceful life with people like me about."

"Well, I'm glad I'm a peaceful anarchist. After the Revolution comes, I can rest comfortably in my sustainable commune while you lot starve out in the cold."

"You're confusing anarchism and communism again."

"I am _not_ , Vyvyan. I am _talking_ about Anarcho-Communist ideals."

"You wouldn't know an Anarcho-Communist ideal if it bit you in the arse."

"Ugh, this is disgusting," Rick tossed the magazine away, into the corner. Vyvyan let it go - he was already finished with it, Rick had fished it out of the bin.

Rick grunted and tapped his cigarette over the side of the tub, "I've barely seen you all day. You were gone all morning on another one of your stupid 'secret missions' and now you're going out again, and after dark no less. I don't know why you never tell me where you're going."

"Because it's never any of your business," Vyvyan finished up, switched the razor off and lit a smoke of his own.

He watched Rick from the mirror. The back of his head was getting rather shaggy. The space between his pigtails had nearly grown in completely. He puffed his cigarette and thought a moment. Then he stood up, unplugged the razor, grabbed his stool, placed it behind the tub, plugged the razor back in and sat down. He turned it on and Rick flinched forward, sloshing water onto the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you look like a real bloody anarchist," he said through his cigarette, "Hold still, or you'll make me drop the razor into the tub and kill you."

Rick glared over his shoulder at him for a moment before settling back against the tub.

"Well, I suppose it's all right. Just...don't shave my head or anything."

Vyvyan barked a laugh, "Wouldn't dream of it, poof. You'd look bloody ridiculous, I'd be more embarrassed to be seen with you than I am now."

"Oh, ha ha."

Rick managed to be quiet and still for a whole minute, up until his right pigtail was shorn off.

"VYVYAN!" He lurched forward, more water sloshing from the tub. When he rebounded, Vyvyan shoved him forward again, by his head.

"Hold bloody _still_! You're like a fucking coked-up monkey!"

Rick twisted around to scowl at him, "You _are_ shaving my head!"

"I am _not_! Just shut up, sit back and hold still!"

The two held an angry staring contest for a few seconds. Vyvyan crossed his arms, the razor still buzzing in his hand.

"You'll like it. Trust me."

Rick glared a moment longer before sitting back again, deciding against his better instincts. He relaxed, taking the occasional drag, while Vyvyan worked. He stayed quiet for at least another five minutes.

"Vyv, are you giving me a mohawk?" His voice held the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas.

"Britain's finely educated youth," Vyvyan muttered, squeezing the back of Rick's neck where he was holding it, "Shut up, your head moves too much when you talk. I'll fuck it up, and then I _will_ have to shave your head."

Rick's vanity kept him quiet until Vyvyan could finish. Vyvyan shut off the razor and set it aside. He tried to brush the excess hair off Rick's shoulders, and when some of it stuck, he dunked Rick into the tub.

Rick emerged, soaked and sputtering. He stood up, ready for an argument, "Ruddy heck, Vyvyan, who do you think you-"

He caught his own reflection in the mirror and stopped short. A stranger looked back at him. His hair was now a 3-inch wide skunk stripe running from a slight fringe at his forehead down to the nape of his neck. Even wet it stuck out at funny angles; a strip of brown grass along an otherwise peach-fuzzed head. He looked so different. He looked like a _punk_.

"All _right_ ," he stepped out of the tub and toward the mirror, grinning wide and checking himself out from various angles, "I never had the nerve to try it, I always thought it would be too pedestrian, but it looks _good_."

Vyvyan tossed a towel at him and he put it on without losing his own reflection.

"You're going to have to watch out for me, Vyv. The girls'll be swarming now."

Vyvyan laughed loudly, immediately choked on his cigarette, and coughed hard through chuckles as he put it out. Rick ignored him, preening in the mirror. Vyvyan picked up the magazine and threw it in the bin before leaving the room. He came back with a pair of black jeans and a white undershirt. He tossed them at Rick.

"Put these on."

"Why?" Rick said, holding them without complying.

"Few of the boys and I are going out tonight. Going to make some mischief. Y'know, my sort of anarchy."

"Like what?" Rick still hadn't moved, and this question was cautious.

"Like we're going to sneak into Harrod's and blow up Soft Toys." Vyvyan pulled his own t-shirt on.

"Why?" Rick said again.

Vyvyan shrugged, "Seemed like a good idea when we planned it. Still does."

He picked up his can of supermousse and squirted some into his hand before using it to splay Rick's hair in various directions.

"Why are you telling me this?" Rick still hadn't put on the clothes.

"Because if you're very good, and you can keep your mouth shut, speak only when spoken to, and keep out of everybody's way...you can come along."

Rick's eyes lit up, "You mean...you want me to hang out with you and your friends? Oh can I? Can I really?" He bounced on his heels, clasping his hands together, clutching the clothes to his chest.

"I didn't say I wanted you to, I said you could. And you listen to me, poof," he took Rick by the shoulder and pointed threateningly with his other hand, and consequently the mousse, "I meant it when I said to keep your mouth shut. If you say something stupid and get yourself smacked, I'm not going to stop it. And if you embarrass me, I swear I'll kill you myself."

Rick swallowed and nodded. He believed him. Vyvyan seemed satisfied with the nod and headed to his room, setting the can aside. Rick got dressed. Vyvyan came back in, fully dressed and ready, and tossed Rick's Doc Martens at him. He put those on as well. He considered an overshirt, and rejected the idea. It was a warm enough night, it was July for Moz's sake, these clothes would be plenty. He followed Vyvyan toward the door, but stopped him just before they reached it.

"We're not..." Rick began, and Vyvyan turned to face him, "We're not going to _hurt_ anybody, are we?"

Vyvyan smiled. "It's a department store in the middle of the night," he said in a tone typically reserved for the reassurance of small children, "The guards will be locked away safe and sound in their little room, because Rory knows 'em and they don't care." He paused to look Rick up and down, then rolled his eyes, sighed in annoyance, and un-tucked Rick's shirt. Rick bristled at the indignity of leaving the house with an un-tucked shirt, but he didn't tuck it in again. Though he couldn't imagine what being a punk had to do with tucking in one's shirt; that was just common decency. Vyvyan smiled again, "We've done Harrod's before, we've got a clear escape route. We'll be long gone before the pigs get there."

Rick nodded and Vyvyan turned to leave.

"Come on," he said, heading for the stairs, "They should be here by now. And be cool, this crowd can smell fear."

Rick swallowed again and steeled himself a bit before heading down the stairs after him.

****

Outside, a smattering of punks had gathered on the sidewalk. The two emerged and Rick was met with a crowd of unfriendly faces. He recognized a few from various parties. He caught Vyvyan's friend Rory out of the crowd, a tall, lanky, dark-haired fellow. Rick knew _of_ him, at least. He'd been recently recruited - a new member of The Business. But Rick hadn't yet said a word to him, hadn't even met him officially. A crowd of punks, and all were strangers to him. A lump grew in his throat and his mouth went dry - he couldn't have said anything if he wanted to.

"Evening gents," Vyvyan said. He motioned behind him, "This is Rick, he'll be a tourist tonight."

Rick took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Hi. I-" Vyvyan nudged his heel, covertly. Rick stopped himself. "Hi."

The crowd mumbled greetings and the group was on their way, wandering down the street. The group chatted amongst themselves, ignoring Rick entirely on the whole. A few others joined them as they walked, they must have been fifteen in all halfway there. Rory passed a bottle of rum around. When it got to Rick he took what he hoped was a small-ish swig and passed it on, trying valiantly not to make a face. When it got around to him again he took a slightly larger swig. His nerves calmed somewhat, but not nearly enough to open his mouth.

****

****

Tiny white balls of fluff drifted down like snowflakes through the orangey glow of the fires. The fire alarm blared, and the sprinkler system rained down on them all, flattening mohawks and soaking through socks into steel-toed boots.

Rick spun in childlike circles amid the falling cotton and water, arms outstretched. The first blast had scared the hell out of him, and he was glad that the sound of the explosion and the cheer of the others had covered his shriek. But very quickly, his terror had shifted to an adrenaline rush like none he had ever experienced, and he felt his scream turning to laughter. He felt as though he were on the downward slope of a roller coaster with no chance of the ride letting up. With each blast, Vyvyan had laughed heartily, clinging to Rick and jumping excitedly, and Rick had clung and jumped and laughed along. Now he was soaking in the rush, and the rush felt good. The rush felt amazing.

A fight (several, in fact) had broken out amongst the others, and they were all around the corner, out of sight. Rick turned to Vyvyan, who was leaning against the wall and watching Rick with an expression that, had it been worn by anyone else, Rick could have sworn was loving affection.

"Oh Vyvyan!" Rick cried, sure that the others wouldn't hear him. Between the ringing in his ears and the blare of the alarms, he could barely hear himself, "It's the most fun I've ever had in my entire life! Thank you! I don't know how to thank you for letting me come!"

With the others absent, Rick felt confident in throwing his arms around Vyvyan's neck as he said this. Vyvyan seemed to share his confidence, as he not only permitted it, but put his hands on Rick's waist and pulled him closer. Vyvyan kissed him quickly, then looked into his eyes, smirking.

"C'mere," he said, motioning to a door a few feet away from them.

They entered the stairwell and the moment the door closed, Vyvyan shoved Rick against the wall with the force of his kiss. Rick kissed back, hard, grabbing the back of Vyvyan's neck and squeezing hard. He pushed back against Vyvyan's insistent mouth, wrestling for dominance. He managed to push himself away from the wall, flipped them and pinned Vyvyan to the wall instead, much to Vyvyan's great surprise. He hadn't expected this burst of strength. He relaxed; it was nice to relinquish control once in a while.

Rick dove for Vyvyan's neck and bit. Vyvyan moaned, pulling Rick closer. Rick pulled back and watched Vyvyan with a mischievous grin.

"What's got into you?" Vyvyan gaped at him.

Rick smiled wider and dropped to his knees, fumbling urgently with Vyvyan's belt.

"Figured out how to thank you."

****

They were lounging on the stairs and smoking when Rory burst through the stairwell door. Had he been only a couple minutes earlier, he would have come across a very different scene. As it was, the two were fully clothed and casual, sitting apart even, though rather flushed.

"There you are! Piggies are squealin' lads, time to go."

Indeed, the whine of police sirens were barely detectable beneath the wail of the alarms. Rory started to close the door, then opened it again and eyed the two of them suspiciously.

"What're you doin' in here?"

Vyvyan held up his cigarette. "We're fucking, arseface. What's it look like?" He took a calm, patient drag and watched Rory closely, stone-faced.

Rory blinked and stared blankly at Vyvyan for a moment before breaking into a grin.

"Aaaaa, this guy!" he howled in laughter, pointing at Vyvyan and hanging on the door handle, "He's a fuckin' riot, this guy!"

Vyvyan laughed along, and Rick smiled and took a drag himself - he couldn't believe that worked.

"Oi," Rory said, still laughing, "You meetin' up at the river later?"

Vyvyan nodded and waved him away, "Yeah, yeah. Fuck off."

Rory shot them another grin and closed the door. Vyvyan stamped out his cigarette and stood, helping Rick to his feet.

"Come on, quickest way out's straight down. We've got to get out and then get off the streets, lay low until we're sure we won't be followed."

Rick tossed his cigarette aside without bothering to stamp it out and followed close behind, "Are all your friends that gullible?"

"Most of 'em are too thick to notice anything's amiss. Watch out for Rory, he's cleverer than the others. He's clever enough, I almost like him."

This bit of information tugged at Rick's brain for reasons he couldn't quite place, and something told him he should probe further.

"…How long have you known each other?"

Vyvyan shrugged, opening the door at the bottom of the stairs and ushering Rick through it. They slinked into the night, keeping to the shadows. Vyvyan had to pull Rick back _into_ the shadows more than once.

"No, really," Rick said, and Vyvyan shushed him. He continued, in a stage whisper that was nearly as loud as his normal speaking voice, "How long have you two been friends?"

Vyvyan shrugged again, but this time he answered, quietly and somewhat grudgingly, "Met when we were kids. Thirteen or fourteen."

"You've been friends for nearly _ten years_? Is he your oldest friend?"

Vyvyan shrugged yet again, "I suppose so. He's not too bad."

Rick flushed. He felt an instant, red-hot flash of jealousy at the idea that Vyvyan had a real friend other than him. At the same time, he was delighted to imagine that Vyvyan could have ever made a real friend. The contradiction made his head hurt and tied his stomach into knots. He decided he didn't like Rory at all.

He scowled, "So what's this about the river, then?"

****

Underneath a certain bridge across the Thames, along a sandy bar where the ground hesitated before plunging headlong into the river, was a spot where Vyvyan's friends often met after various escapades. They would drink and smoke and fight and relive old glories for hours, sometimes until the sun came up. Years ago the pigs used to hassle them, but eventually they seemed to lose interest - from then on, from midnight 'till dawn, that spot along the river was theirs.

A crowd had already gathered by the time Rick and Vyvyan got there. A few blokes fought along the shore. Two others were getting a fire going inside a metal bin. The rest sat or stood under the bridge in a sort-of circle, drinking and talking. Rory was there, setting up a boombox alongside the cluster of drinkers and talkers.

Vyvyan sat down and motioned for Rick to sit, too. He did, but he scowled at the idea of sitting near Vyvyan's real friend, even if he was on the other side of the circle. Vyvyan pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and passed it to Rick. Rick took a hit and passed it along, barely taking his eyes off Rory. A song came on the radio, some speed punk band Rick had never heard before.

'Terrible taste in music,' he thought, 'Don't understand what Vyvyan sees in him at all.'

A bearded punk passed around a flask. Rick took it and went to drink before even checking its contents. Vyvyan stopped him with a subtle hand and leaned in to whisper, "You don't want that one." He took the flask from his hand and swigged it instead.

"Why?" Rick whispered back, eyes still on Rory.

"Turpentine," Vyvyan passed the flask along, muttering through his teeth, "You're not there yet, girly."

Rick rolled his eyes and alternated between scowling at Vyvyan and scowling at Rory. The music changed, and apparently this was a mix tape, because that was Joy Division. He recognized that one, Vyvyan listened to it all the time. Didn't matter, Rory was still a thorn in his side. That made it all the worse, in fact - music was apparently something he and Vyvyan had in common. He wondered how much more there was. Exactly how close was Vyvyan to this Rory character? Did he even want to know?

Vyvyan and a couple others were now arguing over the merits of various explosives, which meant Rick was being completely ignored, in favor of Rory. Well that was just great, what was he supposed to do by himself under a bridge full of punks who, given the chance, would just as soon kick his head in as talk to him? He got up and wandered out from under the bridge, around the corner to where the grass sprouted up from the dirt along the hillside. The playlist advanced to a Black Flag song he knew rather well - yet more proof that Rory and Vyvyan were far too closely matched. He leaned against the wall of the bridge support and scowled at the night air, arms crossed in protest. This was a terrible night, there was no doubt about it. Finding out about Vyvyan's little friend, Vyvyan ignoring him, losing his pigtails - he just wanted to go home and work on his sign for tomorrow's protest, sod the whole thing.

He pushed himself off the wall, prepared to sulk off, when the unmistakable twang of Johnny Marr's guitar came wafting from the radio's speakers. A harmonica's whine joined the riff. Rick froze.

* _Hand in glove_  
_The sun shines out of our behinds._  
_No it's not like any other love_  
_This one is different because it's us._ *

It was their song. Well, what Rick would consider to be their song if Vyvyan would permit such a thing as having a song. _Rory was playing their song._

"Ah jaysus Rory, not this shite again!"

"Oi, fuck off Denny, don't you go casting aspersions on the bloody Smiths!"

"There you go wi' your foockin' fancy words, you been hangin' 'round college boy too long, I ain't castin' no perversions on nobody, that lead singer o' their's is plenty perverted on 'is own!"

"Aspersions, stupid!" that was Vyvyan, "Open a fucking book once in a while!"

"You shut your foockin' mouth, college boy, this is between me and the ponce. You know I can't stand this bollocks!"

"I ain't no fuckin' ponce, and you're bloody deaf! Listen to that guitar!" Rick could hear the passion in Rory's voice.

"You're the deaf one, mate, can't hear nothin' under that naff bastard moanin'!"

Rick rounded the corner, eyes blazing.

"Hey!"

All eyes were suddenly on him. He barely noticed.

"Nobody talks about Morrissey like that around me!"

The punk who had complained, Denny apparently, rolled up his sleeve and started for Rick. He was a bit more than intimidating. He was nearly as tall as he was wide, all muscle, with a thick beard and angry eyes; he looked somewhere between a berserker and a Tolkensian dwarf.

"What're you gonna do about it?"

Before Rick could respond, he felt an arm slide across his shoulders. He looked up to find Rory standing next to him, beaming proudly. "What are _we_ going to do about it? How about a pop in the mouth? That's a start!"

"You're the one'll get popped, mate," Denny was approaching fast, but Rory seemed calm enough, so Rick stood his ground.

"I don't know about that," Rick ventured, "We Morrissey fans are pretty tough!"

Denny swung and Rick ducked. Rory got him in the jaw with an uppercut that knocked him down and kept him down. The mountain was, apparently, relatively easy to topple. Rick stared at his prone form, then up at Rory, who was grinning a mile. Rick's heart raced and he felt himself blush. That was a fight! He wasn't just being jumped on the playground or bashed over the head by his housemates, he'd just been in a real fight! How anarchic was that? This whole punk thing might actually work out.

"How long have you liked The Smiths?" Rick asked, genuinely interested.

"Since forever," Vyvyan said, approaching them, "He's the one who gave me that cassette you're so fond of. He had two and didn't need both."

"Really?"

Rory shrugged, "Yeah, they're an indulgence. 'S a nice contrast to the typical shite these bastards call music. They wouldn't know culture if they was snortin' it up their fuckin' noses. You're quite a fan, I take it?"

"You could say that," Rick watched Rory with fascination. Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all.

"He's a fucking pain in the arse about it," Vyvyan said, smacking Rick upside the head. Rick turned on him, lips pursed, eyes blazing, with that classically Rick-ish expression that always made Vyvyan go weak in the knees.

"Vyvyan!" he stamped his foot, "I will _not_ have my reputation maligned in front of my fellow Morrissey fans!"

"Oh, so I suppose you're going to take me on next, eh?"

"I might! I just might!"

"Going to have to catch me first, girly!" Vyvyan smacked him again and took off running. Rick chased after him, the two darting in-between the others up and down the riverbank, trading blows and yelling.

Rory watched the two of them and smiled. It was good to see that Vyvyan had a real friend other than him - for years, since they were practically kids, he'd been the only one. He brushed off his hands, gave the still-prone Denny a kick in his stupid fat arse, and headed back under the bridge to join his fellow punks, and new friend, Rick.

**Author's Note:**

> Meet Rory, everybody! Hope you like him, because we'll be seeing him again. Soon, in fact.
> 
> This is my second-favorite fic in the series. (My most favorite has been finished since 2011, but it's fic #16 of 18, so it'll be a while yet before we get to it.) I was driving home one day, way back when the series was in its infancy, when I got a sudden image of Vyvyan watching Rick from the mirror, standing up, sitting back down, and starting to shave. Everything just flowed from there. 
> 
> I love the image of that particular mohawk style on Rick, and though I'm as sad as anybody (certainly as sad as him) to see his pigtails go, I feel like it's yet another example of the ways in which the boys are changing each other. He'll be wearing it the rest of the series, in case anyone's keeping track. ;)
> 
> By the way, since first posting this, I changed a band name. I did my research, but the year this story takes place in has changed since I first wrote it. So no more Pixies. Hello Black Flag. (Henry Rollins <3)
> 
>  **9/26/15:** The amazing nippip has drawn a picture inspired by this story! You can find it [here](http://nippip.deviantart.com/art/Haircut-The-Young-Ones-558350313) at Deviant Art. Thank you so much! You're awesome!


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